"O dear me, and there's this water running all over the floor," cried Adela, stepping gingerly over the pool, and trying to pick off the wet sleeve from her arm at the same time.
"I'll fix it," said Polly, as cheerily as she could, "while you get your waist on." And she sopped the water up. "There, that's done," she announced with satisfaction; "now do hurry, Adela."
"I can't get out of this old, horrid, wet sleeve," said Adela, very red in the face, and pulling and twitching at it.
"Take care, you'll tear it," warned Polly.
"I don't care if I do," said Adela, peevishly. "O dear me, somebody's coming!" With that she flew into the closet and pulled to the door.
"Why, Polly!" exclaimed Mother Fisher, in surprise, "what is the matter? We are all waiting to go in to dinner."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," began Polly, feeling as if nothing would be so delightful as to have a good cry in Mamsie's arms and tell all the story.
"Well, you must come right away," said Mrs. Fisher. "Why, where is
Adela?" looking around the room.
"I'm here," said Adela, from the closet.
"Come out here, Adela," said Mrs. Fisher. So Adela came out, the wet sleeve still on her arm; but she had gotten out of the rest of the waist.